


this isn't the "holiday best friends championship"

by palinodes



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Holiday Baking Championship Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bad Puns, Baking, Canon Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Malex Secret Santa 2019, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palinodes/pseuds/palinodes
Summary: Beloved and snarky YouTuber baker Alex Guerin has made it into the final four of the Holiday Baking Championship. He has charmed the nation and the judges with his deadpan wit and delicious vegan concoctions. But, can the last self-taught baker left in the championship beat out the three professionals? Will Maria rum-soak her way to the finale? Will Noah be the first molecular gastronomist to win the title of Holiday Baking Champion? Can Rosa calm her nerves and glide through to the finale with her elegant decorating skills? All will be revealed when their family members join them for the main heat. Stay tuned!
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 45
Kudos: 169
Collections: 12 Days Of Malex 2019





	this isn't the "holiday best friends championship"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sailorchiron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorchiron/gifts).



> For [sailorchiron](http://sailorchiron.tumblr.com/) Okay, I’m gonna level with you, I am soooo nervous. I know you wanted Alex struggling to bake, but I gave you both of them struggling to bake in different ways? You also listed making everyone dinner, so I thought you would like everyone being together. I probably could have done this an easier way. This is decidedly as far out of my comfort zone that something could possibly get. I really hope this is okay and you like it! 

Alex, the picture of control, treasured by every PA because his station is always pristine during breakdowns, is currently covered from the elbows down in flour, wondering why on earth he let Michael talk him into participating in something so bright and cloying. (“But, baby, you’d be so good and you’d get to meet Lorraine and Cake Ace guy!”)

Alex’s station is to the far left of the large set industrial kitchen. Maria is directly to his right. She is graceful and prone to dancing in place when she wins a main heat. She runs a bakery called the Wild Unicorn in Dallas with her mother. Alex finds the dancing endearing and he hates himself for it. Rosa is a recovering addict, who is so young and beautiful and creative. She is working towards adding a bakery section to her father’s diner in Santa Fe and occupies the station across from him. Noah is a talented, disturbingly Stepford, classically trained baker and molecular gastronomist. He makes Alex’s skin crawl, so he keeps their run-ins to a minimum. Noah is, blessedly, located down at the other end. 

The show is a well-oiled, Food Network machine. Complete with HD cameras, blindly bright lights, and top-shelf equipment and ingredients. But, the shininess of it all had worn off for Alex before the cameras even started rolling. He respected the judges and his fellow bakers for their craft and that is where it ended. He just wanted to do well, push through, and get home.

Alex can’t cook for shit. He dries out microwave ramen on a good day, but he can bake like a motherfucker. Baking is a precise science, it requires control and understanding of flavors and above all, patience.

Alex is married to Michael Guerin. He has patience in spades. 

He didn’t mean to start baking with any regularity. Michael likes sweet things and Alex likes Michael. 

Alex started a YouTube channel in 08’ as a way to store videos of him and Michael tooling around with the guitar and just never looked back.

Cut to two years later where he was lying awake with his thoughts racing over a video he had seen about making melted caramel art with a hand mixer. With the bright colors and music, it was clearly marketed towards kids. Alex was struck with a feeling of overwhelming responsibility. He imagined nine year old girls, with One Direction avatars. The same girls who comment on all his guitar and cookie videos asking earnest questions. (“Do u think i culd play dis? My mum just got me a geetar :D” “could i make this with dried apricots??? Or would that be gross??? i think u r pretty btw.”) 

He imagines those little girls, those _kids_ , putting boiling hot caramel on a hand mixer and burning themselves, or worse. 

That is how he found himself standing in their tiny AirStream kitchen, softly ranting to his secondhand camera how the channel in question should bury their heads in the sand until their dignity and self-respect comes back, if they ever had any at all. 

His video “Pouring Hot Caramel on Beaters is DANGEROUS w/surprise bf appearance and mean impromptu song” went viral. It pulled in almost five million views. It also garnered a fair amount of criticism since the thumbnail featured a sour looking Alex flipping off the camera and the words “you are literally hurting little kids for adsense, @easyquickkraft. you should be ashamed.” 

He found he was good at it. Not only that, but people liked listening and watching him do his thing. So, that’s his brand, or whatever: debunking dangerous five minute baking hacks, vegan alternatives, how to prevent food waste, native music, and the occasional car rant recorded on his iPhone about he simply _cannot comprehend_ how he is the only non-black creator that seems to remember that Shane Dawson has repeatedly done blackface. 

He is an outsider in the community, but also highly praised. He is a harsh critic, but a benevolent one. Michael puts his carpentry to use on a regular basis. He builds Alex different sets and shelves. Sometimes he’ll come home from work with sawdust still in his hair and Alex carefully washes it out. 

Even though he only has a modest following of 450k, there is a tumblr dedicated to archiving each and every time Michael can be seen or heard in the background of a video or an Instagram post. Someone had even taken a picture of him curled up with Michael during a train ride. Which was a total violation of boundaries, but goddamn the picture was cute. He loves to hate and hates to love the platform that has given him so much. 

Almost a decade later and this bullshit helps pay their rent. It pays the bulk of their rent. 

Also, being a baker and a proud, out gay man appears to piss his dad off more than he ever thought possible. Or, at least, according to Flint, it does. Alex hasn’t seen or spoken to Jesse since he turned eighteen and got a restraining order against him. 

Alex is contented—happy even—in his life. 

But, at present, he is staring down the barrel of a mini-pie polar bear family and it is quickly turning into a cataclysmic event. 

This morning, the announced pre-heat was that the contestants had 90 minutes to make a mini-pie family. Noah had to make a Santa family. Rosa, an elf family. Maria had to make a snowman family. 

And Alex had to make a goddamn polar bear family. 

This is an absolute, utter disaster. 

He quickly and successfully blinks back tears. Why can’t he even do this right? He just wanted to do something nice. His neatly lined-up-by-need measuring cups clatter onto the floor. He has cracked three mini crusts and he used powdered instead of granulated sugar in his first batch of filling. His ganache keeps boiling over and if he wastes anymore time, the filling won’t set properly. He’ll be serving the judges a soup with a floating polar bear face in a mediocre chocolate graham cracker crust. 

“There is still time to pivot,” Bobby, the host, says from his right.

Alex can’t spare a moment to even wonder how long the cologne laden man had been standing there next to him. He shuffles passed him to the sink, pouring his burnt filling down the drain. He grabs the container of espresso beans, pours a quarter cup in the food processor and punches the power on. As the beans crumble into a fine powder, the smell reminds him of home. 

“No, no,” he insists more to himself than anyone else. “It has to be this.”

Obviously smelling blood in the water, Bobby presses, “Really? Why?”

Alex never has a cute family story to tell him. He didn’t have a Christmas stocking growing up to base a brownie decoration on. He doesn’t have a grandmother’s recipe for teiglach or pecan pie. The producers or judges ask him why he is making a certain pastry or pudding and nine times out of ten, he says, with a tone of annoyance that he is baking it because it tastes good. But, at present, he is too tired and stressed to come up with a snarky remark. 

So, Alex reverts to honesty, as per: “It’s Michael’s favorite.” 

“Oh! Who’s Michael?”

He rolls his eyes and takes a deep, angry breath. “My husband.”

“You’re MARRIED?” Rosa screams from the ovens. 

“I knew it,” Maria says smugly as she plaits her dough with ease. 

Bobby gives the camera a smile that drips with satisfaction. His big, white teeth sticking out strikingly in contrast to his synthetically tanned skin. With a tilt of his head, the host moves on to Noah’s station. 

Alex doesn’t move from the stove-top until the ganache simmers. He pulls it off immediately, pours the chocolatey, coffee mixture into four small crusts and does a mad dash for the fridge. His leg is killing him, but he put the studio provided stool in the cabinet on the first day and is too stubborn and prideful to get it out now. Alex tries to focus on his task and how he loves the feeling of fondant in his hands. He draws the eyes and claws for his polar bear family and begins cutting them out. In his haste, he slices his finger. Alex sneers at himself. He lifts his cut middle finger in the air and shouts, “Medic!” 

The set doctor, Kyle, is objectively hot and desperately trying to be friendly, but Alex hasn’t felt a stirring for any one other than Michael since they were teenagers. He rushes over, genuine concern etched into his features. The doctor covers his and Alex’s mic with his hands. He asks Alex how his leg is holding up. Alex just huffs and taps his foot until Kyle finishes patching him up and clears him to continue. 

* * *

He tries to save face by telling the judges that it is a political statement. The polar bears’ home is melting, after all. 

They rip him, albeit politely, to shreds. 

Alex tells them that he understands and wishes that he could have given them his best. 

Nancy is the oldest and harshest judge. Her eyes remain kind, while her mouth purses in disappointment as she says, “Your flavors are beautiful, But, regretfully, the crust, it was—well. It was a bit of a soggy bottom.”

“Ah, that was what they called me in high school.”

* * *

Noah wins the advantage for the main heat. 

No one but Noah himself seems to be particularly thrilled about it. 

* * *

Still nursing his hand and his bruised ego, Alex sits down in the seat in front of the green screen that he imagines will be filled with falling snow or Santa’s sleigh, or some other intolerable holiday stock footage. 

His producer, Jenna, is about subtle as an icicle in the eye. 

“Not to be cliche, I didn’t come here to make friends.”

She smiles and tells him that he knows to not address her directly. “I just asked you how you felt about your competition.”

“I nothing them.”

“Really? Even Rosa and Maria?”

“I didn’t come here to make friends. I came here to win money and promote my channel.”

Jenna sighs and tells him to answer a few more questions, give her a holiday pun, and then he can go. “This far along in the competition the challenges get longer. Would you like to tell the story of how you lost your leg?”

They tell people it was a hiking accident, but really it was an infection caused by a cheap shot with a rusty knife in a shed. His father had finished with Alex and grabbed a hammer a few moments later. 

Alex smirks cruelly. “Shark attack. No, rabid gnomes. No, wait! Jedi training gone wrong. My mom wanted to name me Luke. Bad omen, I say.” 

“Did the ‘accident’ changes the way you view the world, and maybe make you more likely to pursue your dreams? Like baking, maybe?”

He is only dream is to be with Michael. To make music together, help him sand down bookshelves, cook him pancakes in the morning, and never hurt people. 

“No,” he answers frankly, because he is already living his dream. Jenna sighs and relents, asking about him to talk about his mini-challenge. He cuts her off mid-tired ramble: “I know it’s your job, but I don’t want my leg or lack thereof to be a part of the show. I haven’t been holding on to it for some big reveal or something. It’s not a secret, it is… google-able, but I don’t want this to be a thing on the show. Please.”

She nods and leans forward, presenting her right pinkie finger. He loops his left around hers. 

“Okay, then. Why that pie? You make such meticulous decisions. That was a risk and not a calculated one. It looked like it stemmed from emotion. Care to elaborate on that?”

God, fuck, she’s good. 

* * *

Bobby gathers them all to the front and organizes them in a row. The cameras start rolling, he does his standard punny introduction and reveals that this main heat will be done in teams. Everyone groans. Alex starts inching towards the girls, caught between throwing himself on the stiffly polite Noah sword or just saving himself and making puppy eyes at Rosa. 

“Meet your guest assistants!” 

A stunning woman walks out and Alex wracks his brain for a name or some recognition, but he falls short. He is certain he would remember seeing a woman this beautiful and with such a presence before. Her curly brown hair is piled on top of her hair, strands of it falling beautifully around her thin, angular face. She looks a little spacey, eyes darting around the room as if she wasn’t a hundred percent sure of where she was. She clutches the flower necklace around her neck and Maria lets out a sweet, but ear piercing screech. She bouncing in place, the bells on her Christmas elf socks jingling. 

“Mama!”

Maria finds her mother’s gaze, who focuses in on her, holding her hands out before placing them over her own heart. 

“That’s right. Your teammate is your loved one! Everyone else come on out here.” 

Alex’s heart is rabbit-frantic in his chest. He tries to maintain his composure as Rosa’s sister and Noah’s wife all walk out. Michael’s head of curls make their appearance around the corner and he lets out an embarrassing yelp. 

The fourteen hour shoot days? Alex couldn't care less. Being on camera and not being able to control how he looks bothers him less than he thought it would. Taking criticism and praise in such a public forum? He wouldn’t choose it, however he prevails. But, being away from Michael for over two weeks, not even being able to call? It has fucking blown. It has hurt in ways Alex didn’t think to catalog before he left. Or, maybe he didn’t to protect himself.

Michael is here now with a pleasant flush to his cheeks, scratching at his perfect jaw and wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater that Alex has ever set his eyes on. It is a cable knit mix of white, green, and red with the words “Party Savior” emblazoned above a cartoon Jesus holding a keg over his shoulder. He watches as Michael fidgets where he stands, tugging at the surely itchy collar and rubbing the back of his neck. 

Alex’s mirrors his movements. To have Michael so close and not be able to touch him reminds him of hiding out in Michael’s truck to escape his father. 

People are talking all around him. Bobby is probably telling them the rules and the schedule for the day, and he is really should be listening to that but he is putting all his energy into forcing words out of his quivering mouth. He finally gets out a ‘hi’ with a small, wobbling voice. Michael just grins. 

“Alex, this is the most emotion we have seen out of you all competition, bar none. Apart from annoyance with yours truly, of course,” Bobby adds with a faux good-natured chuckle. “What’s going on?”

“Just overwhelmed by the power of Christmas,” he grinds out through a grimace. 

“Happy your husband is here, I imagine?”

Alex gives a tight smile, though he can feel his eyes watering. He looks anywhere but Michael when he says, “Yep.”

Bobby waits for a beat or two before he accepts that is all he is going to get out Alex while the cameras are rolling. He throws his hands in the air. “Ugh. Fine, be that way. Let’s cut for lunch, yeah?”

As soon as the director yells ‘cut!’ and the cameras are officially down, Rosa and Maria make a beeline for their family members, as Noah’s wife calmly walks over to him with long, torpid steps and her arms outstretched. 

Michael’s smirk shifts into a soft smile. He shimmies his hips in Alex’s direction. “Come to daddy.”

Alex scoffs, stalking over to him, only to take him by the hand and immediately move them to his cooking station for a false sense of privacy. 

“Michael, you need to change out of that sweater.”

“I figured.” Even in the Christmas monstrosity, Michael is rakishly charming and endless endearing. He rips the sweater over his head, making his hair stick up in an adorable way. The t-shirt he is wearing underneath says “I love alexx0” the channel name Alex had back before everything took off. Alex runs his fingers over the text. Michael makes a crack about Alex’s still all black attire even on a holiday show. He then mumbles something about not waiting anymore. 

Alex squawks when Michael grabs him by the hips and lifts him onto the counter. Michael just grins and massages his thighs with his strong, woodworking hands. His husband always seems to know and Alex groans aloud in relief. In return, he rakes his nails ever so lightly along Michael’s spine. Alex croons at Michael’s happy sigh, hiding his giddy smile in his neck. He breathes in Michael’s sweet smelling sweat, like wood chips and wet moss. 

Michael lifts his head from its hiding place so he can place gentle kisses on his forehead. “Hi, baby, hi. Merry Christmas in early November.” 

A soft squeak from his right causes them to break momentarily. The girls are lined up along the counter, heads propped up on their fists. Including Noah’s wife, who Alex doesn’t even fucking _know._

He glares at them, left eye twitching. 

“What?” Maria asks, feigning ignorance before smiling wickedly. “We all like this version of you. You’re all pink and gooey.” 

“Shut _up_ , DeLuca,” he snaps, though the effect is lessened by Michael cradling his face and laughing lowly. He runs his hands through the hair he has missed so much, before Michael swoops in to press their lips together. They sway together, keeping it as PG as best they can until Michael nips at his lower lip before soothing the ache left in his teeth’s wake by peppering soft, closed mouth kisses around Alex’s mouth and jaw. 

Michael pulls away. Alex lets out what in his head is a manly groan, but in reality is probably more akin to a whimper. 

The rest of the group quickly turn around, making their way towards craft services. Rosa stage whispers, her voice full of youthful cringe as she backs away, “Okay, now it is indecent.”

Alex cups the back of Michael’s head, fully intending on showering his face in kisses and nuzzles. But, Michael pulls back farther, his brows furrowed. He turns his face to peck Alex’s bandaged finger and then asks, “Do we know that blonde chick from somewhere?”

* * *

Bobby comes out in a suit decked out in Christmas lights. He informs them that the teams have three hours to bake cupcakes and assemble them into a giant edible holiday-themed tree. 

Michael makes a questioning noise as Maria, Rosa, and Noah take off sprinting towards the pantry. Alex shrugs, takes him by the hand, and tells him that they are making spiced apple cinnamon cupcakes with a cranberry compote filling and a vegan buttercream frosting. 

They are off to a decent start, Alex has mixed in the blended silken tofu and stirred in the soy milk and caramelized sugar, but before he’s measured the vanilla he adds a pinch of pepper. He hands the bowl to Michael to slide into the mixer, while Alex sets off back towards the pantry. 

Too swiftly and shaky with stress, Michael snaps the dial atop the mixer to near its top speed. The bowl starts to spin along with it as the almond flour and cinnamon puff onto Michael’s front and the brown sugar and mix spray out onto the counter and splatter. He curses and lunges for the tottling mixer, catching it just before it crashes to the floor. 

There is a deafening silence in the workroom until Alex giggles, a sound so foreign to the crew that the cameraman stumbles a bit. He drops the bag of fresh cranberries onto the counter and spins Michael around. Alex bites at his bottom lip and fails at suppressing a smile. He carefully brushes the flour from Michael’s hair and front. “You didn’t lock the bowl in. You’re such a stupid ass.” 

Bobby appears quickly, a little breathy from his jog from the other side of the room. “Alex, this is a huge set back.”

“Not really. We’re ahead of schedule. No harm done.” 

“This is to get into the finale. The title of Holiday Baking Champion and a hundred thousand—” 

Alex snarls, effectively silencing the host. “I’m not going to scream at him or make him feel bad over baking, which doesn’t actually _matter_.” 

Maria, at her neighboring station, mock gasps and grasps her neckline, as Rosa lets out a dramatic scream of horror from the ovens. Kyle actually puts down his book and barks out a laugh from his bench along the back wall. 

Their acceptance relaxes the tension the room, and the guilt and shame is rapidly dissolving from Michael’s face. Still, Alex grips him by his apron front, giving him a kiss as sweet as he intended to a minute ago. 

“I mean it. No harm done.” 

“Do you think your husband’s clumsiness is working against you, Alex?”

He thinks his clumsy, carpenter husband is a certified genius and is putting himself through college, but he also thinks that the world doesn’t need to know their business. His don't leave Michael's when he says, “I’d advise you to shut your mouth about him, Bobby. I’m serious. He is not fodder for your little edited punchline. We’ll give you plenty of family friendly banter to work with. Back off.”

The host shrugs and holds his hands up, backing away from Alex’s station.

Michael looks shell-shocked until Alex hands him another bowl of the cake mix, kisses his cheek, and reminds him gently to lock it in. He kills it this time. Cupcake batter, mixed, Guerin-style. 

As Michael peels and cuts Granny smith apples, Alex simmers the cranberries in a pot with brown sugar and other ingredients. When the bubbles appear, he turns the heat down and pops a whole star anise in and affixes the lid. He is lining up what they need to start the frosting when Isobel asks Michael when he proposed. Alex, affronted, scoffs and asks why she assumes that Michael was the one who proposed. The silence in response was damning. 

“ _Fine_. I can be stubborn and he proposed. Both times.”

“You said no the first time?” she sounded genuinely offended on Michael’s behalf, a man she had just met a few hours ago. 

“We were seventeen and had only been together for three weeks,” Alex says. He then adds not to kindly, “Plus, gay marriage wasn’t legal where we live until 2014.”

Bobby busts into the front of the room, hollering “bakers!” with a litany of child-made ornaments hanging from his sleeves of his suit. He announces that the mid-round twist is to bake a dozen cookie ornaments to go on their cupcake tree.

Alex had anticipated a twist and has already factored in another flavor profile. He is making vegan, grain free pistachio cherry cookies. They are festively colorful, easy, and goddamn delicious. All he has to do is mix the almond flour, vanilla powder, and baking powder. Stir in the maple syrup and molasses until the dough holds together on its own. Then he just folds in dried cherries and pistachios and throw them in the oven. 

He starts Michael on mixing the dough and through it all, Michael just _cannot_ let go of how familiar Isobel looks. The pair of them have been shouting questions back and forth with increasing intensity. When Michael confesses that he was in the foster system in Roswell in ‘97, too, Isobel unceremoniously drops the pan in her hands. 

“I thought you said you lived with your mom?” she asks, giving Michael her undivided attention. Her bluntness is losing its charm and has an interrogating edge. 

Michael scowls deeply, though the flour on his nose lessens its effect. He is hand mixing the cookie batter as if it had personally offended him. “Ma had her demons, alright? I was in and out of the system until ‘99. She got clean, we moved to Denver. She died there nine years later.”

Isobel smiles. An odd response to someone speaking about their dead mother. Alex is about to tell her so, until she says that she has a twin brother called Max with dark hair. Then Alex is smiling, too. Michael collapses back against the counter, a small grin adorning his face and wonderment playing in his eyes. 

Alex drops the spoon back into the mixing bowl and hastily rubbing his frosting covered hands onto his pants. He glides the few steps separating Michael and himself, wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist. He strokes Michael’s chest and neck, as Michael buries his nose in his hair laughing incredulously. 

The rest of bakers, apart of Noah, have stopped what they are doing, as well. Watching the scene unfold with rapt attention and a touch of recently acquired fondness.

“Holy shit, talk about a Christmas miracle. Michael and I have been looking for you two for almost ten years.” 

Isobel nods and dusts off her hands. She is moving around the counter to walk to Michael when Noah clears his throat. “Dear, as fascinating as this all is, could it maybe wait an hour or two? You’ll have all the time in the world once we are done with this.”

She closes her eyes and clenches her fists. A few moments pass before she composes herself and walks back behind the counter, refastening her apron and reaching for the sugar and salt. “Of course, sweetie. How silly of me.”

Maria and Mimi look affronted. 

The director and on-set producer look pissed that they won’t be getting an on-screen resolution and will be forced to leave the bulk, if not all, on the cutting room floor. 

Rosa grumbles about buzzkills and goes back to her ornate decorating. Liz sticks out her tongue at the back of Noah’s head. 

But, Isobel gives Michael the brightest, blindly hopeful smile. 

* * *

Everyone has quieted back down and is working towards building their cupcake trees when Alex hears a small, anguished cry. The palm of Mimi’s hand is an ugly red. She must have unknowingly rested it on a hot burner. Kyle rushes over, dropping his book to the ground. He quickly cleans Mimi’s hand and wraps it with gauze. Maria only settles once Kyle reassured her that is just a slight, first degree burn. 

Isobel is making an appreciative noise every time Kyle bends over. He blushes furiously as he prods Mimi’s fingers and applies ointment to the portion of her wrist that is is also burned. 

Even with the trip-ups at the beginning, Alex has made up a lot of time and everything seems to be on track. He begins scooping the buttercream into his piping bag and visualizing the snowflakes he is going to make. “Guerin, drop that and go help Maria.”

Michael shakes his head, chuckling. Alex doesn’t look away from his piping, but raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“You got it, darlin’.” Alex shakes his head when Michael sidles next to Maria, looking coy and boyish. “Now, I don’t know what good I’ll be, but put me where you need me, little lady.” 

“Sure, you any good at standing still and holding shit? I need to start stacking my cupcakes.” 

Michael’s throat clicks as he swallows down a nervous breath. She eyes his covered hand. Maria has no reason to not think that the bandanna is a fashion, cowboy chic-choice. Alex meets her eyes, and attempts to communicate, but he knows he just looks constipated, sputtering and red-faced. 

“Actually,” she transitions before the crew picks up that anything is wrong, smooth as melted butter and sweet as cream. “I’m not ready to build, quite yet.” She turns back to the counter and presents him with a large bowl of sprinkles. “You any good at tossing?”

“Oh, I toss Alex’s—”

Alex turns the mixer to max speed and takes a deep breath. He puts all of his reserve into not hurling the pot in his hands at the back of Michael’s beautiful, stupidly curly head. 

A few moments later, his beautiful, stupid man is getting more sprinkles on himself than the Oreo cookie balls Maria had made, but he is making her smile. When Michael says something that actually makes her laugh out loud, she calls over to Alex, “Thank you for the assistance, pal!” 

“Oh, he is comin’ back over here the millisecond Mimi is back in the game. You know I just want an even playing field.”

“Still! That’s the Christmas spirit, friend!” Rosa shouts as she sprints passed his station with a case of powdered sugar.

“Not friends!” Alex grumbles mostly to himself. He overhears Maria whispering to Michael about how nice Alex has been to her, how much he has clearly missed him.

So, Alex naturally starts smashing pistachios into a pulp with the fury only a man fueled by vengeance holds. 

* * *

Noah comes out from the critique looking pissed as all get out. Isobel plasters on a beaming grin and tells Alex that it is his turn now with a voice so full of sugary sweetness that he has no choice but to fear her. And Alex doesn’t fear anyone. 

Alex presents his cupcake tree with the same dry, precision that the judges have become accustomed to. His respect for them on this matter quickly dies as he plates his dish and Duff, the one male judge, asks him to tell them about the “hunk of cowboy” next to him.

As he places the desserts in front of all three judges, he explains, “This is my partner, Michael. We both didn’t have what you would call a traditional upbringing.” 

“Fuckin a,” Michael affirms quietly behind him.

“So, we don’t have any cute kid Christmas stories for you. Anyway, he’s—He is my family and I guess that is what makes this time of year matter. Or whatever. He makes everything matter. I mean, not just Christmas bullshit. Sorry for saying ‘bullshit.’ He is my holiday all year round is what I am saying. Can I be done?”

All three judges smile, nod, and lift their forks to their mouths. They make the standard questioning noises for the appropriate amount of time before Lorraine, Alex’s favorite judge, and the one he hopes to impress the most, if he is truthful with himself, speaks first. “I must say, Alex, you truly have redeemed yourself after that Irish Coffee Pie disaster.” 

Alex swallows and nods. Michael’s hand is sweating in his hold and before he can stop himself is whispering, “You made them Ma’s pie?” 

“You’re not listening,” he responds, pitching his voice low. “I fucked it up.”

“I don’t care. You’re amazing. He is amazing.” 

“Michael, you don’t—”

Michael goes into the whole story, how he and Alex met in middle school a few years after he moved to Colorado and they immediately just got each other. How when Michael was seventeen he kissed him in the mystery section of the public library and it was the second best decision he ever made. The first was dropping out of high school three weeks later to take care of his dying mother. He speaks in a calculated, but frank way about how even though Alex’s household was brutal, but he remained sweet and brave. The December after his mother finally ended her love affair with this world, Alex took him to Lake Tahoe. He had rented them a shit cabin, the size of a postage stamp, but it had a little kitchen and he made Michael the pie his mother always used to make. 

It was the happiest Christmas of his life, because he knew then that his Ma would never really be gone. Because she existed in him and in the stardust and in Alex and in the dirt and in coffee pie and the fibers of the worn blankets of his childhood bed and in the universally shared air coming off from the lake; the freshest, coldest Michael had ever breathed. 

* * *

Rosa wins with her las posadas themed vanilla cupcakes with churro frosting that were inspired by her father. She and Liz cry. He is happy for them. 

Alex comes in a close second and feels an excitement and lightness in his chest with knowledge that he is going to the finale. He hadn’t been expecting that, really. 

It is down to Maria and Noah. It is sounding pretty close, inexplicably. After the small accident in the kitchen, Maria wasn’t able to bounce back with the ferocity Alex expected. She was more focused on doting on and nagging the woman that gave birth to her. The end result was a bit of a dilapidated mess. 

Thankfully and miraculously, Maria’s half-finished work makes it through on taste. 

Noah had, apparently, put in salt in his peanut butter cookies instead of sugar. 

* * *

Noah muscles his way through the group in the backroom, mumbling about amateurs, and slams the door, leaving Isobel behind. Ten minutes later, she is still standing among them, arguing with Michael about where they are going to get dinner tonight to catch-up. Michael is pouting because he wants Thai food. She clenches her fists and bites back a smile. 

It all dawns on Alex in that moment. He is enthralled by her master stroke. He admires her _and_ fears her. “You—”

Holding one finger up to her smirking lips wagging her immaculately manicured fingers with the other, she ushers the rest of them out and into the main kitchen.

The second they are alone, Michael pulls Alex into him. He tells him he smells like cinnamon. That he looks hot. How he should wear a Santa hat for the finale and use the stool, please. How proud he is of him, that he knows this whole thing is scary. The pressure, the lack of control, the performance of it. Alex nods and knocks his forehead into Michael’s 

“Though, the girls are nice, I really like them. Cool bonus,” Michael says. He runs his hands up and down Alex’s arms and whispers into the curve of his ear, “Grind their bones to make our bread.” 

* * *

Jenna looks pretty even at the end of a long day. Alex tells her so. She preens and asks him to talk a little about why he is fighting for this title. She looks immediately let down when he answers honestly and without flair: down payment for a house for Michael.

“Fine, what are you most looking forward to?” 

His sincere answer—winning and going home—is again met with dismay. Apart from these women, he has utterly loathed this experience. He has hated every moment of being paraded around like their cranky, gay representation pony. But, Jenna has been good to him, despite it all, and he has a feeling that tomorrow he is going to win one hundred thousand dollars. 

He sighs and looks directly into the camera and forces himself to form a half-genuine smile. The smile is hard, but the answer is true. “Finishing out the competition with new friends.” 

He doesn’t have a touching story about his Christmas stocking growing up. He can’t slam words together in a rough poetic fashion for the camera, or for anything, really. But, fuck, he has Michael and their tiny, but growing group of friends and being his own boss and he is filled to the brim with holiday warmth.

Filled with glowing, pulsing warmth because he is going to buy Michael a house that he can fix up the way he likes. He is going to get Michael as many Nintendo games as he wants, too. 

Alex can throw the show a bone for that, for the potential happiness and security he can give his family. 

It is Christmas, after all. 

He spares a glance at his fingernails and then raises his eyes to the camera lens again. “My heart may have very well grown three sizes over the course of this journey, but friendship doesn’t mean mercy. There will be no mercy in the Holiday Baking Championship.”


End file.
